


It's all downhill from here

by blackkat



Series: Stupid MadaTobi AUs [9]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Brief Smut, Dirty Talk, F/M, Friendship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6808543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crown Prince Obito elopes with the blacksmith’s son. Madara hardly expects his day to get worse from there, but he forgot to factor in his ridiculous brother, his nephew’s cunning, and the return of a distractingly attractive sea god he’d really rather remain in his past. There's only one direction for things to go from there, and it’s definitely not up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's all downhill from here

**Author's Note:**

> This is _really_ not what I sat down to write, I swear. But I was looking back through some Tumblr prompts, and this started as a Tangled KakaObi AU and somehow devolved into water nymph!Tobirama and sorcerer!Madara, and…oops? I blame the fact that there were a few too many gin and tonics involved in the writing process. By now my brother should have learned to take my keyboard away once I get tipsy. 
> 
> (I've noticed that pretty much all of my writing somehow ends up being OOPS I DID A THING, and I sincerely apologize to everyone suffering through my ridiculousness. You're all amazing and deserve so many cookies.)

 “Can I just say this is the most exciting thing you’ve ever done? I'm so proud of you, Obito!” Rin says cheerfully, looping the rope around one of the crenellations and skillfully tying it off.

Obito rolls his eye, hitching his pack up a little higher on his back. His sheathed sword, lashed to the side so as not to get in the way while he climbs, bumps against his buckler shield, and he winces at the clang. “Rin, you know I'm eternally grateful for your support, and I love you dearly, but this is a terrible decision and we both know it.”

“I didn’t say it was _good_ , just exciting,” Rin counters, then leans over the edge of the wall and offers Kakashi a cheerful wave. Looking faintly bemused, he waves back, though Obito can practically feel the confused stare directed at him. He ignores it, turning to face Rin instead.

“You’ll be okay?” he asks, because ridiculousness aside, she’s his best friend. Getting caught up in all of this was her choice, but Obito still feels responsible.

Rin gives him a look that’s equal parts exasperated and fond. “I'm a great actress,” she reminds him. “And King Izuna is going to be too busy looking for you to pay much attention to me until I'm ready to leave. I’ll be fine.”

That makes Obito grimace. His father, who makes “rabidly overprotective” seem like the kindest sort of understatement, is going to blow a gasket. “Fantastic,” he sighs, then grabs the rope and slides over the edge of the wall. “See you in a few weeks, Rin.”

“Don’t forget to write!” Rin waves cheerfully, leaning over to watch him descend. “Good luck eloping! Have lots of sex for me!”

“Rin!” Obito hisses, feeling his ears flush crimson. He’d flail at her, except his hold on the rope is the only thing keeping him from a very long, very nasty fall. “Could you _not_? _Ever_?”

Rin just giggles and blows him a kiss. “Oh, come on, Obito. This is just like something out of one of my books—”

“Your super-trashy romance novels? No, it’s _not_ —”

“My _plotty and heartwarming stories on the triumph of human emotions_ ,” Rin continues right over top of him. “Think about it! The Crown Prince eloping with the blacksmith’s son, because their love was denied by his tyrant father—”

“My father’s not a tyrant! I mean, _yes_ , he usurped the old king, but Konoha's economy is more stable now than any time in the last century, and the country is more progressive than ever—”

“—And escaping to become pirates.” Rin is still ignoring him. It’s a familiar feeling. “Isn’t that awfully close to the plot of one of my novels?”

“I still think you're being overly generous calling those things _plot_ ,” Obito mutters, just to be contrary, though his ears are still getting hotter.

“And they're not pirates,” Kakashi chips in from where he’s watching Obito's descent with caution. “Minato is a privateer.”

Never one to be swayed by logic, Rin dismisses this with a flick of one hand. “Well, I suppose I’ll see in a few weeks. Send me a letter if anything changes?”

“I’ll use a spell,” Obito tells her, sliding down the last few feet and landing lightly. He waves, pale blue light flickering around his fingers, and smiles up at his best friend as he reaches out for Kakashi. Kakashi takes his hand with a smile of his own, kissing his knuckles lightly, and if Obito had any doubts about this plan—well, he still has them, more or less, but they're worth it. “That way I can reach you when my father throws you in the dungeons for treason.”

That makes Rin laugh. “You’ll have to raid the castle and break me out, then,” she says cheerfully. A moment later the rope slides back up, and she coils it loosely around her arm. Leaning over the edge of the wall, she smiles and adds, “Be safe, Obito. I love you.”

“Love you too, Rin,” Obito says, smiling back, and watches as she disappears back into the darkness.

“Regrets?” Kakashi asks softly, twining their fingers together.

“One or two,” Obito admits. He grins. “Mostly that I won't be able to see my father’s face when he realizes I didn’t turn up for open audiences tomorrow. It’ll be entertaining, to say the least.”

Kakashi pulls him into the shadows, towards a waiting pair of horses. “We have an appointment with the priest in an hour,” he says. “It will be too late by the time the king notices.” There's a flicker of a slyly mischievous smile, and then an arm wraps around Obito's waist and pulls him right up against Kakashi with a firm tug. “The wicked pirate will have done away with the brave prince’s virtue by then, and everything will be irreversible.”

“ _What_ virtue?” Obito retorts tartly, peeling the arm off of him. “I seem to recall you taking care of that very thoroughly when we were sixteen. And you and Rin have the _worst_ taste in literature. I don’t know why I put up with either one of you.”

Kakashi chuckles, letting him go and untying the geldings’ reins. “Because of my big—”

“Finish that sentence and I'm eloping with Asuma instead.”

Blinking at him with entirely false innocence, Kakashi protests, “I was going to say _heart_.”

“Sure you were.” Obito puts his foot in the stirrup and swings into the saddle, resettling his sword so it’s not in danger of hitting the bay in the rump with every step. “Come on, let’s go. The concealment and misdirection spell I cast will only last until noon tomorrow, and I want to be at least halfway to the port before my father notices I'm gone.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Kakashi says blithely, mounting his chestnut gelding and urging the horse out into the street. “This way, if you please.”

Obito rolls his eye, but kicks the bay into a swift trot to catch up. He drops back to a walk once he’s next to Kakashi, and looks up at the rising moon as it spills light over the cobblestone streets. “Here we go,” he murmurs, but instead of nervousness all he feels is a flicker of eager anticipation.

Kakashi hums in easy agreement, glancing over at him with a mostly-hidden smile. “Here we go,” he agrees, then pauses. Obito raises an eyebrow at the sudden expression of consternation, and Kakashi says carefully, “Your uncle is the Court Sorcerer, isn’t he? Famous for his very powerful nature spirit familiar? Will your spell be enough to fool an earth god?”

“Ah, that.” Unable to help himself, Obito feels his grin tugging up into something sharp-edged and wicked, a little too much like his mother’s expression for most people’s comfort. “It’s maybe just sort of possible that I pickpocketed his summoning crystal and switched it out with another, very _special_ one. It should distract him for a while. I’ll mail Hashirama’s crystal back once we’re married.”

“You are the hottest person in all nine realms,” Kakashi says, eyeing him in the way Obito knows from experience promises that very enthusiastic horizontal recreation will follow shortly. “And I'm the luckiest.”

“Well, I can't argue there,” Obito agrees magnanimously, but he reaches out and takes Kakashi's hand, slotting their fingers together. Kakashi squeezes gently, then releases him.

“Let’s hurry,” he says, giving Obito a meaningful once-over. “I'm ready to start the honeymoon. Aren’t you?”

“Lech,” Obito accuses, but it’s fond, and when Kakashi kicks his horse into a canter Obito matches him step for step.

 

 

“WHAT?!”

Hikaku winces faintly, flicking a glance at Madara before he answers the king. “Your son isn’t in his rooms, sire, and he left a note. Er. He’s eloped?”

There's a long moment as Madara watches his little brother’s face run through some very interesting expressions. Then, with a horrified sound that’s almost a wail, Izuna throws himself back in his throne and demands, “Find him! I want whatever bastard dares think he can despoil my son hung from the castle gates! I want him drawn and quartered! I want his head on a pike!”

“All at once?” Hikaku mutters, under cover of Izuna's theatrics, and Madara would be amused, except that he can already feel a headache forming.

 _Damn it, Obito_ , he thinks, pinching the bridge of his nose. As if Izuna doesn’t already have enough of a complex about his only son.

“I’ll start Hashirama looking for them,” he tells Hikaku, even as Izuna starts listing off another set of gruesome deaths for his son’s unknown paramour. “Have the Guard scour the city. They can't have gone far yet. And send someone to speak with Lady Rin. Whatever idiocy Obito has conceived this time, she might know something.”

The Head of the Watch inclines his head, short ponytail bobbing, and then heads out of the room at a trot, calling for his commanders. Madara spends the next three seconds debating whether he should be a good brother and comfort Izuna, but immediately decides that there's no way in any of the hells he’s subjecting himself to another moment of this ridiculousness and discretely casts a transportation spell to carry him back to his tower.

He appears in the workroom in a swirl of light, and immediately waves a hand at the minor earth spirit hovering near the small garden on the balcony. “Zetsu! Locate Queen Tōka and inform her that her husband needs her.” And if Tōka is as unsympathetic as Madara suspects she’ll be, well, that’s Izuna's own fault for marrying a goddess of wrath in the first place. She’s pretty, Madara will give her that—her entire family is—and it makes their son a force to be reckoned with where his magic is concerned. But she’s not human, and likely won't quite understand what the fuss is about. The same way she doesn’t understand why a queen shouldn’t wander around the countryside with a bloody sword helping people avenge the wrongs done to them.

Even so, she’s the most wildly popular queen in a thousand years, and the story of her and Izuna falling in love is considered the greatest romance of the ages. Madara will never understand people.

With a toothy grin and a sloppy salute, Zetsu vanishes into a miniature maple tree, and his presence fades. Madara gives it another moment to be sure he’s gone and then turns to the wide balcony on the other side of the tower. There's a summoning circle laid into the stones, but Madara hasn’t needed it to call his familiar since he was in the Academy. He pulls the silver crystal from the inside pocket of his robes, weighing it in his hand for a moment, then murmurs, “Awaken,” and tosses it lightly into the air.

Hashirama will find Obito within minutes, and then this entire problem will be solved. Izuna will get to wreck bloody vengeance on whatever poor soul he ran off with, Tōka will be pleased to see that her husband still worships her fervently, Obito will learn that in the future he’d best outright murder his father if he truly wants to escape his ridiculousness, and Madara's headache will be dealt with. Everyone will win. Except for the paramour, but Madara doesn’t have much sympathy for anyone who’d dare to lay lecherous hands on his only nephew.

And then there's a flash of deep blue light where there should be green, and the spirit that appears isn’t Hashirama with his burst of oak leaves and vibrant grass. Instead, there’s a sudden gust of wind that smells of sea air and sand, and water whirls up and out, drenching Madara from head to toe. He yelps and stumbles back, spluttering, even as the show of power fades.

That’s _definitely_ not Hashirama, he recognizes with a surge of fury at the only possible culprit. He’s going to string his nephew up by his _heels_ , the little bastard, and—

“You,” the cool, faintly surprised voice says, and the spirit folds his arms across his bare chest. He’s even prettier than Hashirama, just as Madara remembers him to be, with white hair falling to frame his face, a crown of coral and shells resting on his brow. His only clothing, if Madara can even call it that, is a wrap of what looks like woven kelp strands draped loosely around his hips, and the silver bands curled around each bicep.

It’s enough to make Madara remember a lot of things he’s tried to forget in the years since he last summoned this spirit. Chief among them the stupidity of a young, cocky sorcerer bedding a very pretty god and _not_ thinking it would end badly.

“That little _brat_ ,” Madara hisses, stripping off his sodden robes and dumping them in a pile off to the side. “I'm going to _murder_ him.”

Tobirama’s dark red eyes linger on his bared torso, then slide up to hold Madara's gaze. Madara just catches the flicker of heat in them, so unusual for the ever-aloof ocean god, before it’s firmly shut away. “Did you call me for a reason, sorcerer?” he demands. “Not all of us are as indulgent of your whims as my brother.”

“I was _trying_ to call your brother,” Madara retorts, wishing he was wearing more than just his breeches. It’s hard to be intimidating half-naked. Not even Tobirama quite manages to pull it off—he just looks sexy. Though maybe Madara's slightly biased. “Obito must have switched out my crystals so I couldn’t find him.”

“Tōka’s son?” Tobirama looks surprised, then amused. “He’s a clever child, even if he does share blood with you.” Then he pauses, something flickering in his eyes, and he takes a step forward, as sleekly graceful as a shark moving in for the kill. “You…kept my crystal.”

Madara stiffens, because of all the things that Tobirama could have taken from that sentence, that’s the worst. At least where his dignity is concerned. “I must have forgotten to throw it out,” he retorts, glaring. “And what do you mean, _even if he shares blood with me_? My blood is where he gets all his logic! If he shared any more things with your family, he’d be a flighty, empty-headed moron!”

Tobirama ignores him, as he always does. The sea god steps right up in front of him, reaching out to touch Madara's sodden hair, and the gesture makes Madara's breath catch in his throat. He’d forgotten, but although Tobirama is his height he’s also much leaner, built along different lines. And he’s lovely, all pale skin and sleek muscles traced here and there with silvery scars. Madara once knew every scar’s path by heart, could trace them in his sleep and had. His fingers curl into tight fists, wanting to touch but not allowed.

“You kept my crystal,” Tobirama repeats, somewhere between confused and surprised. “Why? I thought it meant nothing to you.”

Madara blinks. “Nothing?” he echoes, and a flare of anger edges his vision with red. “ _Nothing_? You're the one who wouldn’t answer when I called you! I tried for a month! And every time, you ignored me completely! If it was just _indulging_ _me_ , you could have found another way to let me know! I loved you, you bastard! I was young and stupid and I _loved you_ , and it meant nothing to you!”

With a faint frown, Tobirama steps back. “Before?” There's anger seeping into his expression, shifting his face into the coolly deadly lines of a hurricane at sea. “You fool, I loved you as well! You called me while I was trapped in battle with the moon goddess! For one month I couldn’t answer without drawing her wrath to you. Afterwards I would have come, but you never called me again. I assumed you had lost interest in the novelty of fucking a god.”

A war with the moon goddess Kaguya? Madara blinks, remembering when the moon stayed full for an entire month, and all the speculation at the Academy that surrounded it, but—a war? Madara hadn’t heard anything of the sort. Storms had been bad, yes, but it was winter, and storms are always severe then.

Pride had kept him from calling, afterwards. Pride and hurt and anger, but—a misunderstanding? That’s all it was?

 _Decades_ of heartbreak for absolutely nothing?

“You,” he says fiercely, reaching out to capture one pale, slim hand, “were too much of a headache to _ever_ be a novelty, Tobirama.”

That at least earns him a shadow of a smile, there and gone like moonlight glittering on the tide. Tobirama curls his free hand around the back of Madara's neck, eyes going dark with intent. “Then fucking is still an option?” he asks, voice husky, and Madara can't stop the groan that rumbles up from his chest. Tobirama has a filthy mouth on him, stark contrast to the elegance of the rest of him. It’s a mouth Madara has missed a lot more than he’ll ever be willing to admit.

And maybe, just a little, he missed the rest of Tobirama as well.

In a flash, he pushes Tobirama back, right up against the wall, and slams their mouths together, kissing him with a desperation that’s been years in the making. It’s gratifying when Tobirama kisses him back the same way, eager and slightly angry, with an edge of furious desire underneath. Muscular arms hook around Madara's neck, and Madara gets his hands on that maddening wrap, stripping it off in an instant. Then smooth thighs are under his fingertips, in his hands, and he hoists Tobirama up with a burst of strength, pinning him against the wall. Tobirama’s legs lock around his waist, and he tips his head back as Madara lays a path of sharp, biting kisses down the column of his neck.

“Bed,” Tobirama orders, low and hungry, breath hitching as Madara's fingers slide up from his thighs to rub against somewhere far more sensitive.

“Here,” Madara disagrees, because he’s a contrary asshole and has never made a secret of it.

With a sound of aggravation, Tobirama pushes away from the wall, upsetting Madara's balance and sending them both tumbling back. There's a dizzying rush of power, and instead of landing on hard stone, Madara's back hits the softness of his mattress. Tobirama lands on top of him, pinning him down with hands on his chest and knees locked along his hips, and insists, “Bed. I want you inside me.”

Madara whines, breathless and desperate. Why was he arguing again?

Tobirama laughs at him, the bastard, and shifts his hips in a long, slow, maddening roll. “I'm going to ride you,” he murmurs with another torturously slow grind. “Until you can't speak, can't breathe, until you don’t know anything but my body.” His clever fingers find the ties of Madara's breeches, tugging them open until he can get his hand on Madara's cock. It lies hot and heavy against his own, and Madara is almost undone by the simple press of skin and velvet hardness. “Then we can go back to your idea. Are you still strong enough for that? Can you hold me up while you take me?”

Madara bares his teeth in a growl, hooking a hand around Tobirama’s nape and dragging him down for a filthy kiss. “Let me up and I’ll prove it to you,” he hisses, free hand going to Tobirama’s thigh as his hips buck up, and it’s impossibly heady to see how Tobirama’s red eyes flutter shut, a moan tearing out of his throat. Two more hard, slow grinds and the coil of tension in Madara's stomach is almost tight enough to snap. From the way Tobirama’s easy, graceful movements have turned desperate and sharp, he’s the same. It’s been years since Madara allowed himself more than his hand when looking for release, and somehow he suspects it’s no different for Tobirama. They're stubborn fools, the both of them.

“I remember,” he hisses into Tobirama’s ear, taking them both in hand and making the spirit cry out breathlessly. “You on your knees, do you remember that? How about when I was on my knees for you, _worshiping_ —” He gives a hard pull, and is utterly gratified as Tobirama chokes on a cry and comes, stunned silent even as his back bows and his head falls back. The hot splatter of seed on Madara's chest is almost enough to push him over the edge, and one more tight stroke manages it. Release is crystal-bright and feels as fragile as glass, and he gasps out Tobirama’s name as he lets go.

When reality reasserts itself, Tobirama is slumped against his chest, feathery white hair tickling Madara's chin, and Madara's arms have somehow migrated to the god’s back, clutching him close almost desperately. He wants to say _I missed you_ , but—it doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel like _enough_.

So instead, because he’s an asshole, Madara huffs, “Move your lazy ass off of me before you crush me. You're a lot heavier than you used to be, bastard.”

Tobirama makes a vaguely offended, slightly amused sound and pointedly doesn’t move. Then again, Madara didn’t really want him to, so that’s all right. “I’m exactly the same as I've been since my creation. You're simply weaker, which is no fault of mine.”

“Weaker!?” Madara sputters, deeply offended. “I'm stronger! I'm not that reedy little teenager anymore, thank you!”

One red eye slides open, and Tobirama smirks at him. “Oh? I recall something about a promise to prove it, unless you're too old to go again so soon.”

Vaguely, Madara is aware that there was a reason all of this happened in the first place, but the slight to his stamina is one that can't be ignored. Pushing that niggling thought firmly out of mind, he rolls them over to pin Tobirama to the sheets, and then slides down, pressing pale thighs open wide. “I’m not a teenager anymore,” he repeats. “But I _have_ learned a thing or two. Shall we see how wet and open I can get you? How fast the mighty god of water loses himself when he’s being eaten out and fucked with a mortal’s tongue? Because I'm _very_ curious, Tobirama.”

Whatever reply Tobirama might make is lost to a choking cry, his hands fisting in Madara's long hair at the first pass of his tongue, and Madara feels eminently satisfied with his own brilliance.

There's still a hint of suspicion that he’s forgetting something important, but he has a gorgeous god in his bed and decades of near-celibacy to make up for, and can't be bothered to consider it.

 

 

Mildly amused at the way her silly husband is sniffling into her breeches, Tōka strokes her fingers through his silky hair and makes vaguely soothing noises. “There, there, Obito will be fine. He’s a strong, clever boy, and Madara's the only one in the kingdom who can match his magic. There's little that could threaten him, no matter where he ends up.”

“That’s not the _point_ ,” Izuna laments dramatically, opening one dark eye to stare up at her plaintively. “Our baby boy is out there getting _debauched_. Someone is laying their hands on him and _taking away his innocence_. This is horrible! A travesty! A _tragedy_!”

Tōka doesn’t mention that Obito hasn’t been in possession of that sort of innocence for a good five years now. Humans—even lovely, clever, wrathful ones like her Izuna—can be oddly touchy about things like that. “He’s in love,” she says instead, and cups Izuna's cheek in one hand. “You remember what that’s like, don’t you, Izuna?”

Izuna gives her the besotted smile she loves so much and kisses her palm. “Of course, Tōka. And—I shouldn’t worry, right? Madara and Hashirama will find him. There's no way they can't.”

Tōka also doesn’t mention the fact that Madara is rather thoroughly distracted at the moment. So is Hashirama, for that matter, since Obito was clever enough to ask Mito for her assistance as well. The fire goddess is currently leading Hashirama on a merry chase through the heavens, which is another good reason for Tōka to be here, rather than there. She’s fond of both of them, but there are some things even a goddess doesn’t want to see.

“I know what will make you feel better,” she purrs, leaning down to kiss Izuna's forehead. Izuna's other eye opens too, looking up at her expectantly, and Tōka grins, sharp-edged and wicked. “There are bandits in the western forest, along the road. How about we go and put the fear of the gods in them?”

Izuna grins back, just as dangerous, and Tōka had never thought to love a mortal, but oh, how she does. “Mm. How about the fear of a goddess?” he counters, and she laughs.

Obito and his blacksmith will be fine. Tobirama will keep Madara occupied for at least the next week, if she knows her cousin, and Tōka is very familiar with all the various ways to hold Izuna's attention. Her son will get his happy ending, as will the rest of them, and that’s what matters.

“Let’s go,” she says cheerfully, rising to her feet and pulling Izuna up as well. “I'm ready to kill something.”

Izuna kisses her, familiar and heated, and when he pulls back he’s grinning. “I love you covered in blood,” he agrees fondly. “I’ll go get my sword. This’ll be fun! I haven’t gone adventuring in years. And we can even look for Obito on the way.”

Tōka watches him stride from the room, and tips her head to where a shadow lingers by the partially-open door. She gets a smile and a wave, and winks in return as Rin slips away. The girl might belong to Tsunade, but for being a disciple of the goddess of healing, she’s not half-bad. Certainly her prayers are wicked enough to reach Tōka’s ears, and that’s a mark in her favor.

Then again, Tsunade's got a vicious side to her—it’s why they get along so well. Best to keep an eye on that girl, Tōka thinks with a smile, and stalks out of the room to find her husband.

 

 

Hikaku drags himself back into the throne room after several hours of fruitless searching, exhausted and exasperated and sporting a blister on his heel. There's no one waiting, though, despite the fact that King Izuna should be in audiences at this time, and Hikaku frowns around the hall, more than a little confused. Still nothing, even though he’d heard that Queen Tōka appeared for one of her sporadic visits.

There is, however, a slim scroll bearing Hikaku’s name sitting on the edge of the king’s dais, and with a raised brow Hikaku picks it up and unrolls it.

_Hikaku,_

_Gone adventuring to look for my son. Tōka is with me._

_I officially declare you regent. Best of luck,_

_Your cousin, King of Konoha and the Wilds Beyond, Lord of the Western Seas, etc., etc.,_

_Izuna_

It’s just slightly possible that Hikaku whimpers as he slumps to the floor. Given the sheer number of headaches Izuna gives him, though, he’s fairly certain no one on earth would blame him.


End file.
